Desperate Child
by Annie-chan
Summary: Status: Complete. Knives comes across a starving Legato and takes the dying boy under his wing.
1. Lost and Found

**Author's Notes:**  It's been done a million times, but I wanted to write a Knives-finds-Legato story of my own.  I hope to not make mine sound like all the others, as I don't like looking like a copycat.  However, I haven't seen any fics with the idea I thought up for this one, so hopefully, this be at least a little original.  Please don't automatically compare this to all the other fics about this subject!  I hate it when people do that, be it with movies, books, plays, or whatever.  I'd much prefer if you enjoy (or not enjoy) this story based on its own merits, not how it stands up to others like it.

_Trigun_ and all characters therein do not belong to me, but to Nightow Yasuhiro, and whatever companies also hold copyrights.

Desperate Child By Annie-chan Chapter One:  Lost and Found 

Night.  All five moons were up, and the stars were shining brightly.  One could see almost as well as during the day.  It was a rare night indeed when all five moons were in the sky and waxed full.  It probably happened once every hundred years or so.

Down on the surface of the planet, the desert was empty.  No one was about in this region too long after sunset.  This area was known to be a frequent haunt of bandit gangs, and everyone who lived in the region were locked up safe in their homes, be they in the towns or out on a homestead.

One being alone dared to walk under the bright gaze of the five moons.  It was a man:  tall, slender, and silent.  Intense blue flashed as he turned his eyes up to the moons, estimating the time of night.  He had no destination, merely letting his feet take him wherever they chose to go.

He lowered his eyes again to the sand in front of him.  He had been walking for hours, but felt no sign of fatigue.  Walking was, after all, a trifle exercise for one such as him.

Suddenly, he tensed visibly, coming to a halt.  He sensed something in the distance, as if someone was manipulating some sort of wild, untamed force.  He turned his head to the north-northeast, toward the sound of a distant explosion.  The man immediately turned in that direction and sped off toward the fading sound.  He ran silently, the sand muffling his already light footsteps.

He soon stopped.  He was standing in front of the wreckage of a house, everything in a fifty-foot radius from the center of the house flattened almost completely.  He slowly walked closer.  Bodies littered the ground.  He could tell by their dress that they were bandits.  They apparently had been attacking the house.  Perhaps this had been one in a list of homesteads they were going to "visit" tonight.  Every single body was mangled in some way.  Some were ripped apart, some were twisted into pretzels, some were crushed almost unrecognizably.  The man had sensed correctly.  Some kind of powerful, yet raw and untrained, force had been unleashed here.

He walked past the bodies and the contorted remains of a few trucks, unfeeling.  He had no love at all for the corpses surrounding him.

The house was no more than a pile of rubble now.  The sandstone bricks that had made it up had been reduced to gravel, and everything inside was shattered, melted, incinerated, or flattened.

A sound reached his ears.  Something was moving near the center of what was once the house.  He quickly stole away behind one of the ruined trucks, watching and waiting for whatever had survived to emerge.  He was slightly surprised to see a child struggle up out of the wreckage.  It was a young boy, maybe ten years old.  The man watched silently as the boy turned slowly around in a circle, surveying the aftermath of whatever happened.  The boy turned full circle, then sat down hard on the ground, crying loudly.  His voice was hoarse, as if he had already been screaming or crying a lot.  The man watched impassively as the little boy let loose his grief, fat tears streaming down his cheeks as he tore at his medium-length hair.  It wasn't until the boy gave an especially loud and tortured wail that the man's eyes widened, and he paid full attention.  The rubble around the boy had suddenly been thrown back away from his quivering little body about ten feet in a circle.  It was the boy!  _He_ was the one who had done this!

The boy cried like that for several minutes, then began calming down.  After a little bit, he struggled up to his feet, still sniffling, and stumbled off in the direction of the nearest town.

The man stood up once the boy was a little ways away and watched his diminishing form disappear into the night.  He grinned.  He would keep an eye on this one.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Several months later…

" 'Ey!  Looka' dis!"

A group of preteen boys stood at the entrance to an alleyway, laughing about something.  They walked into the dark passageway to where a high stone wall separated the two halves of the alleyway.  In the corner huddled a little homeless boy, curled into a tight ball under a filthy, moth-eaten blanket.  One of the boys came forward and kicked the streetrat in the ribs.

The urchin awoke suddenly, his wide bloodshot eyes staring fearfully at the newcomers.  He cowered back as far as he could go, mumbling something unintelligible.

"Whassat?" the boy who had kicked him said, leaning down and grabbing the urchin's hair.  He yanked hard, dragging the urchin out from under the blanket, earning a pained cry.  "Whatsa matta?  Can'tcha tawk?"

"Ah sed, go 'way!" the urchin sobbed, trying to wriggle free.  The pain in his scalp was dreadful.

"Too baid!" the one who had his hair said, dropping him suddenly.  "Ah won' letcha go so ees'lee t'dai!"  He kicked the urchin hard in the stomach.  He reached down again and grabbed at the urchin's shoulders, jerking him into an upright position and shaking the much smaller boy mercilessly.  The others laughed and jeered at the urchin's wailing entreaties to be let alone.

"Boys!"

The boys stopped laughing and turned toward the alley entrance.  The one shaking the urchin boy dropped his plaything abruptly onto the hard pavement.  A woman stood framed in the sunlight at the end of the alley.

"Leeve dat filthay li'l thang an' c'mon!" the woman said, obviously indifferent to the plight of the little homeless boy.  "Wi'll be lait if ya don' hurry uhp!"  They boys filed out of the alley, having already forgotten the waif.

The street urchin curled back into a tight ball under the blanket, crying bitterly.  This happened all the time.  The town was small enough that, no matter where he went, they always found him.  He still had bruises from their last encounter, and now he felt like every bone in his body had been disconnected.

The homeless boy was about ten or eleven years old.  His skin, one would notice, was originally pretty pale, but was now so coated with dirt, bruises, and who knows what else that it was difficult to tell if this child had ever washed in his life.  His hair, a dirty, greasy dark blue, was grown wild and matted to his head.  No amount of brushing would get this out.  The snarls could only be cut out.  The child's face was thin, with sunken cheeks and eyes.  The eyes were a sickly, watery yellow that stared out from the sockets, frightening away anyone that looked into them.  His body was, almost literally, skin and bones.  Every day, he felt it getting harder and harder to even move.  His body had been cannibalizing itself for a long time.  He was very little more than a skeleton, clothed in the dirty, torn rags of what used to be clothing.

This child used to be healthy.  He used to have a home, family, decent clothing, regular meals.  His hair used to be not so long, and one of the most beautiful shades of blue you could find outside of an artist's supply closet.  His eyes used to be bright, shining orbs of gold, not the watered-out rings of yellow now present.  He used to keep himself at least partially clean, as clean as you could be living out in the middle of the desert like he had been.  He used to have a life worth living.

That was before _they_ had come.  They had almost broken the door down, demanding to be let in.  His father had refused, at least for a minute to stall a bit, while his mother had grabbed his baby sister, seven years old, and gone into the back of the house.  The boy himself had hidden in the broom closet.  It was there that he huddled, curled in on himself, as he heard the horrific events on the other side of the door.  He heard the house ransacked, his father beaten to death, his mother and sister raped…there was nothing he could do to help.  All he could do was pray to whatever god may be listening that they wouldn't find him, trying to keep his sobs of fear from alerting them to his presence.  It wasn't long before they found him.

They had dragged him out of the closet by his hair, and thrown him facedown on the ground.  He heard through his tears something about a new catamite for the boss, and felt them touching him in places no one was supposed to touch.  One had grabbed his chin and forced his head up, laughing about how they couldn't let the boss keep such a pretty face all to himself.  It was then that he felt his clothing being torn off and, one by one, the men forcing themselves into his small body.

Hours later, the bandits finally done with him, he had lain naked, shivering, and pain wracked on the floor, the memories of their hands all over him…all he could do was cry.  One of the bandits had gone into his room and gotten a set of clothes for him, ordering him to get dressed again.  After all, his previous outfit had been torn to shreds with the force it had been removed with.  He had shakily complied, not being able to stop his tears, getting slapped and punched more than once for his crying.  They had dragged him toward the front door, going through the living room.  There, all hell broke loose.

The first thing he saw was his mother, nearly naked, her eyes wide and staring.  She was dead.  She had died in agony.  The second thing he saw was his father, beaten beyond recognition, his blood spattering all four walls of the room.  The third thing he saw was his little sister, her pretty dress in shreds on the floor, her little body covered in bruises.  She had been bleeding from between her legs, from several bite marks on her skin, and from massive blows to the head.  She was dead, as well.

The boy couldn't tear his eyes away from the horrible scene.  His family, his loved ones, violated and beaten so brazenly.  The worst was his sister, the one he held the most affection for, the one who was the sweetest and most likeable of the bunch.  They had shared secrets, thoughts, toys, candy, everything.  She was his whole world, almost.

The boy didn't know how what happened next came to be.  First, he felt something welling up inside of him, filling his body and soul, pounding at his outer walls in a wild attempt to get free.  The next he knew, he was screaming as it burst forth, not out of pain, but out of grief, anger, and vengeance.  His scream was soon joined by the screams of all around him, and soon by the explosion of the house itself.

He had fallen unconscious for he didn't know how long.  The first thing he remembered was crawling up out of the rubble.  It hadn't been too long, judging by the positions of the moons.  That didn't matter.  All he saw was the wreckage of the house and the bodies.  He was surrounded by the bodies of dozens of bandits.  Most of them didn't seem killed by the physical blast that destroyed the house, but by some other force.  They were twisted and mangled beyond comprehension.

His only option was to run to the nearest town and try to survive on the streets.  What life he managed to salvage was miserable.  He could never find enough to eat, he was always getting more and more disheveled and filthy, and the neighborhood kids delighted in picking on him cruelly.

Now, as he cried in the alleyway he had chosen to be his sleeping place the night before, all he could think about was the life he used to live.  It had been a simple life, but he had been happy.  He longed more than anything to have it back, but that was impossible after what had happened.

He was scared of people.  Everyone he met either shunned him or hurt him.  He was terrified they would do to him what those bandits had done to him, or worse.

He stayed curled in that alleyway all day, afraid to come out.  He didn't eat at all that day, making his body deteriorate even faster than it normally did.  It wasn't until late that night that he uncurled his stiff joints and ventured out, even weaker than normal.  There were some garbage cans nearby, and he went toward them to try to find something to eat.  When he got there and pulled the lid off one, he heard a low, threatening growl.  His head whipped around to the left and beheld a big, mean-looking, stray dog.  It was slowly walking over to him, drooling, as if it saw him as a tasty, if a little bony, snack.  The dog probably didn't eat much more than he did.  Its overly large, hunger-crazed eyes froze him in place, letting the dog pounce forward and sink its teeth into his forearm.

He screamed.  As loud as his weakened lungs would allow, he screamed.  The pain was unbearable as the dog began to chew on his arm even as he lived.  All who heard his screams paid no attention.  They all knew that it was just the little homeless wretch, and nobody wanted to risk getting hurt themselves by the dog.

The dog suddenly let go of the bloodied limb with a loud yelp.  It's head twisted around, the neck snapping audibly, and its body fell lifeless to the street.  The boy looked up and saw, in the moonlight, the outline of someone he hadn't noticed before.

It was a man, standing perfectly still and silent not twenty feet away from him.  The man was tall, perhaps almost seven feet, and slender.  They boy could tell that the body under the odd, tight clothing was very well-toned, and could be lethal in a fight.  Short, platinum blond hair looked almost white in the moonlight, and the stars glittered in two deeply blue eyes.

The man started walking toward the boy, and the boy tried to scramble backwards, but his weakness made him stumble and fall back to the ground.  He screamed again when he felt the man's hand on his bone-thin arm.

"Don't move," the man said, his voice smooth and soothing.  "I'm not going to hurt you."

"No, no, no!" the boy shrieked, trying to twist away.  "Lemme go!  Leeme 'lone!"

"I said, don't move," the man repeated, sounding as if he wanted to comfort.  He put his other hand on the boy's shoulder, as if to steady him.  The boy, crazed with terror of this man, turned toward the hand on his shoulder and bit into the wrist hard.  "Ow!" the man yelled, jerking his hand away.  "You little brat!"

The next thing the boy felt was a hard slap across his face, and he fell into darkness.

To be continued… 

**Author's Notes:**  Ouch.  I was meaner to the little boy (I hope to God you all know who he is) than I originally meant to be.  Ah, well.  I hope I didn't get too harsh.  Anyway, I won't be so mean to him later on.  Oh, and as for all the informal speech:  read it like a Southerner would speak.  I spelled it to fit that kind of accent, as well as just uneducated pronunciation.  Not to say that Southerners are uneducated.  I just mixed some informal pronunciation into the accent.  I hope I succeeded.  The man (I hope to God you all know who he is, too) doesn't speak that way, because he obviously isn't from the region.  So, how did you like this first chapter?  I don't know if this story will get too long.  Probably not.  Anyway, let me know either in a review or at mangareader@hotmail.com, onegai shimasu!


	2. Guardian Angel

**Author's Notes:**  See chapter one for disclaimer and explanation.

Desperate Child By Annie-chan Chapter Two:  Guardian Angel 

The first thing he felt was warm.  Odd.  He hadn't been warm in this fashion since before _they_ came.  The boy opened his eyes slowly.  There was a light hanging from the ceiling, and he didn't want to blind himself.

He was in a simple, yet adequate, bed.  The room was small and undecorated, but managed to pull off a cozy feel.  He sat up and looked down at himself.  He started.  He was clean!  He hadn't been clean for months!  The clothes he wore were not the rags he had last remembered wearing, but a simple white long-sleeved shirt and some slightly faded jeans.  The clothes were a tad big on him, but that was due to his almost nonexistent muscle tissue.  He brought a hand up to his head.  His hair didn't feel greasy anymore, and it was cut short, apparently to get rid of the impossible snarls.  He looked around the room, but all he could find was the hanging light, a bedside table, and a small window looking out over a featureless desert.  Who had done this?  Where was he?

The door opened.  Fear suddenly gripped him, and he dove under the bedclothes, shuddering.  God knows what whoever just came in wanted to do with him!

He heard a chuckle, and then, "Come on out.  I'm not going to hurt you."

The boy peeked out.  The voice was soft and soothing, but had an odd sense of power behind it.  He felt compelled to obey.  He beheld a man standing in the doorway.  He was very tall, and his body had that strong, sleek look that warned others to be wary of a fight with him.  The man's hair was short, platinum blond, and looked almost white when the light fell on it just right.  The boy looked at the man's face.  It was angular, but not pointy.  The lips were curved slightly upwards in a faint smile, and the eyes were the deepest blue the boy had ever seen, in the way of eyes.  The seemed to be able to stare right through to your soul, and the boy suddenly had the sensation of being naked.

In his hands, the man held a small bowl of water, and a slightly larger bowl of what looked like soup of some kind.  As soon as the boy saw that, he felt confused.  First of all, he hadn't eaten properly for months, but he didn't feel a ravenous hunger start up as soon as he saw the bowls.  He was hungry, and a little thirsty, but not nearly as much as he expected to be.  Secondly, here was someone who seemed to be showing him kindness.  Wasn't everyone only out for their own good?

The man walked into the room and kicked the door closed.  "I had a feeling you were awake," he said as he set the bowls down on the small bedside table and sat down on the edge of the bed.  "You look like you have some questions."

"Ye'," the boy replied.  "W'ere'm Ah?  Hoo're yew?"

The man smiled slightly.  "We'll get to that later on, little one."

"Oh," the boy said.  "Den…whah don' Ah feel so 'ungree az Ah thot Ah shud feel?"

"You've been out for about a week and a half," the man replied.  "I didn't want you to die on me, being so emaciated as you were already, so I managed to get some water and broth down your throat every day.  I didn't want to choke you with anything solid."

"Oh," the boy said again, not really understanding some of what the man said (what in the world did "emaciated" mean?!).  "Yer th' wun dat cleen'd me uhp, too?"

"Yes," the man said.  "I was a little surprised that you didn't wake up once you hit the water, but you were pretty close to dying.  I don't think anything could have woken you up at that point."  He picked up the bowl of broth and handed it to the boy.  "Drink this.  I'll get you something more filling than broth later on."

The boy took the bowl and drank some down.  When he lowered the bowl for a minute, as to not choke himself, he looked hard at the man.  The man was watching him with a neutral expression.  The boy was almost in awe at the sight.  Even with no expression, this man looked like no other person the boy had seen in his life.  The skin was pale, smooth looking, and free of blemishes.  The face was not twisted in an expression of hate, fear, or revulsion, like everyone else got when the looked at him.  The body was slender, well-toned, and sinewy.  There was an air of monstrous strength coupled with almost feline (whatever a feline was, the boy had heard that expression somewhere) grace.  The being in front of him didn't seem human.  No other human ever achieved this level of physical perfection.  Most amazing of all, the boy got a distinct feeling that this man looked like this completely naturally.

A sudden memory came to him.  His mother had told him and his sister stories about wondrous creatures that rarely made themselves known to humans.  They were stunning to behold, the pinnacle of beauty, almost too beautiful to look upon.  They sometimes helped a poor soul in need by showing them kindness and sometimes saving their lives, if their lives were in danger.  What were they called again?

"Mista'?" the boy asked after another drink.  "Ahr yew un angel?"

The man seemed to start.  He obviously hadn't expected that question.  He looked at the boy and smiled.  "I guess you could call me that."  The boy seemed satisfied with that answer, and took another drink of the broth.  "I should give you speech lessons," the man said after a minute.

"Whut?" the boy asked, a little surprised.  "Whah?  Yer th' wun dat tawks fuhnee, mista'."

The man smiled again.  "You are speaking with a heavy regional accent that most people in the world consider informal," he explained.  "I should teach you how to speak more like the majority of the population, so you're better understood."

"Huh?" the boy asked.  "Ev'rybudy 'round 'ere tawks lahk me.  Dey undastaind me juhst fahn."

"I'm taking you out of this place," the man explained, "to where people speak very unlike you.  Thus, the speech lessons.  The reason I'm taking you out of here is that I believe you and I can help each other greatly."

"Whut?!" the boy exclaimed, sounding scared.  "W'ere're yew takin' me?!"

"We'll get to that later," the man said.  "First, tell me your name."

The boy didn't answer.  He was suddenly very scared.

The man leaned forward a bit, staring into the boy's eyes.  "Tell me your name," he repeated, his voice leaving no room for argument.

"Legato Bluesummers," the boy replied, speaking more clearly than he ever had before.  He was mesmerized by those fathomless pools of blue.

The man leaned back again.  "Good."  He let the boy called Legato finish the broth, then spoke again.  "You and I can help each other very much, like I said.  We have a common enemy.  I have been watching you for months, and have come to the conclusion that you hold within you a deadly power, a power you can use, if properly trained, to take revenge on those who took from you the things you held most dear.  I know what you are going through.  The one I love and care for the most was also taken from me by these heathens, and I have to get him back before he is completely corrupted and destroyed."

"Wh-whut d'yew meen?" Legato questioned shakily.  "Heow d'yew know whut happ'n'd t'me?"  Memories were beginning to force themselves to the surface again, and he felt tears welling up in his eyes.

"As you lay unconscious and at death's door for those first few days, I looked into your thoughts.  I saw what they did to you, to your family.  They tormented you in the worst way, young Legato.  You deserve revenge.  You deserve to make them suffer for what they did to you, for no other reason than you lived in their 'territory'."

"But," Legato stammered, trying to keep from crying.  "B-but…ev'rywun dat did dat iz ded!  I saw deir bodeez!  Sumthin' kill'd dem!"

"You did," the man said, and ignored for the moment Legato's stunned expression.  "You killed all those directly responsible for what they did, and you did right.  But, they are not the only ones.  Their entire race is guilty.  They are out only for their own good, killing and destroying all in their way for their own pleasure!  They are slowly murdering my entire people, forcing them into a life of slavery, their only purpose in life to supply the humans with the energy they need to live their miserable lives!"  The man's voice was getting extremely bitter.  He suddenly clasped Legato's hands between his own.  "Let me train you, Legato.  Let me teach you to use that power within you.  Let me train you, and you will take revenge for what you suffered, for what your family suffered.  In return, I want you to help me bring my brother back to my side.  Help me break the humans' hold on him, and then, a better world can be made!"

Legato was weeping openly now, unable to stop his tears.  A sudden, violent loyalty to this man had sprung into existence in his young, tortured soul, along with an all-consuming hatred of the vermin responsible for inflicting such pain on both him and the man before him.  "Yes!" he cried, and could say no more before he broke down completely, screaming for his parents and sister.  He felt the man pull him into a strong embrace, and he wept brokenly against the man's broad chest, his frail body shuddering with the force of his cries.

They stayed like that for several minutes, until Legato could finally calm down.  The man, who had the tearful boy pulled up into his lap, set him back on the bed and handed him the bowl of water.  "Drink this.  You need some water after a cry like that."

"T'ankyew," Legato said, still sniffling a bit.  He took the bowl and began to slowly drink the cooling liquid down.

The man watched him for a minute.  "Legato…that's a beautiful name," he said quietly.  "Do you know what it means?"

"Uh-uh," Legato replied, almost done with the water.

"It's a musical term," the man explained.  "It means 'played in a smooth manner'."  The man grinned.  "I get the feeling you'll live up to that name.  You have a certain look about you.  I bet you'll grow up to be quite the lady-killer."

Legato blushed as he finished the water.  Young as he was, he got a little embarrassed whenever he heard stuff about being attracted to the opposite sex.  His father had always told him, with a knowing wink, that someday he'd understand what all the older kids in town were up to when they hugged or kissed with each other.  "Ah'v' neva bin wun fer myoozik," Legato said, instead of voicing his current thoughts.

"No matter," the man said, that slight smile back on his face.  "I still like that name."

"Huh," Legato said, digesting the meaning of his name.  It was his name.  He had never thought of it having a meaning other than representing him.  A sudden thought occurred to him.  " 'Ey, mista?" he asked.  "Whut d'Ah coll ya?"

The man watched him for a minute, then smiled again.  "My name is Millions Knives," he replied.  "But, you may call me Master."

To be continued… 

**Author's Notes:**  There you have it:  my version of how Legato was recruited into Knives' service.  I hope I didn't make Knives OOC near the end.  He never seemed like one to compliment someone's (especially a human's) name.  But, he probably didn't want to scare the poor boy by seeming too cold.  If you've interpreted Knives' declaration that he loves and cares for his brother the most out of all living things in the world as twincest…go ahead.  I don't care which way you interpret it.  Just don't send me any big long spiels about what you think it was and why you think it was what you thought it was.  Okay?  Okay.  Oh, and if Legato's speech is driving you up a wall, I don't blame you.  I've read the book _Their Eyes Were Watching God_ (by Zora Neale Hurston), and almost all the dialogue in that thing was like Legato's speech.  Actually, I don't think it was so bad in _TEWWG_, to tell the truth, and that book still drove me nuts.  He won't be speaking like this any more.  Those speech lessons he'll be getting are going to work wonders on him, and he'll acquire that oh-so-sexy way of speaking we all know and love (well, you'll have to imagine it, as it's kinda hard to convey in written dialogue)!  In Japanese _and_ English, I might add! :P  Anyway, let me know what you think of this in a review or at mangareader@hotmail.com, onegai shimasu!


	3. Foreign Flesh

**Author's Notes:**  See chapter one for disclaimer and explanation.

Desperate Child By Annie-chan Chapter Three:  Foreign Flesh 

It was night.  The sky was clear, and the stars shown brightly.  The Third Moon had risen almost ninety degrees in the sky, and the Second Moon was about halfway between it and the horizon.  The Fourth Moon and the First Moon hadn't risen yet, and the Fifth Moon had waned completely.  It wouldn't make an appearance tonight.

Deep inside the headquarters of a conspiracy few humans knew about, Legato Bluesummers, now a young man of eighteen, noticed none of this.  He was in a small, windowless, dimly lit room.  His master had just left, and would be back in a few minutes.  Legato was waiting to receive the gift Master told him about earlier that day.  He had been puzzled when Master told him that he was going to give him something very important to him, and had been shocked when Master had shown him what it was.  The arm of Vash the Stampede, Master's twin brother, preserved for many years in perfect condition inside one of the plants.  Master had told him that he had finally grown enough—having just gotten over his final growth spurt—to have it.

He had been confused.  How could the severed arm of Master's brother be of any use to him?  He had experienced a flash of fear when Master made it plain that this arm was to physically replace his own arm.  That meant amputation, and he felt the natural apprehension at that suggestion.  No matter.  He would do anything his master asked.  Master needed his brother at his side, and this was the only way to do that for now.  Legato was the replacement, and had to be as much like Master's twin as possible.

Master had also told him of an intriguing aspect of gaining his twin's appendage:  theoretically, Legato would be able to utilize the Angel Arm if need be.  He would of course need either his master's gun or the gun of Vash the Stampede to activate it, and it was uncertain if he would ever need or want to use it—his own psychic abilities tended to be much less spectacular, and they didn't want any unwanted attention—but it meant that the arm would be available for Master to use, through an order to Legato, if he saw sufficient reason for it.  Master had two of his own, of course, but you never knew.

Now, Legato lay on a simple mattress on the floor, dressed only in his pants.  Master had told him to lay there on his back and to stay there.  Next to the mattress was a needle, thread, and a long, wickedly sharp knife.  Legato didn't think about them at the moment.  He would be going through enough pain soon, so there was no reason to think about it right now and make it worse.

The door opened, and Master walked back in the room, carrying a long object wrapped in cloth.  Legato didn't move as Master knelt down next to him and set the object—apparently the arm—on the floor.  Legato felt his right arm and both his legs suddenly held in an unbreakable grip.  Master was holding them down with a mind trick, to keep Legato from moving around.  He could still move his head, and he turned his head to look at what was being done.  Master picked up the knife from the floor.  The blade glinted, even in the dim light, betraying its razor sharpness as the light slid down its impossibly thin edge.

Master took hold of his left arm and pulled it out straight at a forty-five-degree angle from his body.  The knife-edge pressed lightly against his skin, Master silently measuring where to cut.  He noticed Legato's minute trembling, and spoke.

"Calm down.  This will be over in a minute."  Legato forced himself to stay still.

With sudden speed and inhuman strength, the knife ripped through his flesh, going through skin, muscle, and bone in one stroke.  A bestial, agonized scream rent the air.

Legato could not move as the pain stabbed through him, so intense he felt it throughout his entire body.  Unconscious tears of anguish streamed down his face, and his breath came in gasps, making it hard for him to get oxygen.  He felt blackness creeping up on him.  No!  He will _not_ lose consciousness!

"It's all right," he heard Master's soothing voice say as he took the human arm away and set it down on the floor.  He picked up his brother's arm and unwrapped the cloth.  "The pain will make you stronger.  Bear it out."

"Y-yes…Mas…Master…" Legato moaned, his voice barely above a whisper.  He had never gone through so much pain before, and it was overwhelming him.  He felt his blood quickly leaving him, and wondered if Master would get the other arm attached before he died.

Master's cool fingers came up against his skin as he put his brother's arm into place.  Legato almost screamed again when he felt the needle pierce his skin as Master joined the arm with Legato's bleeding stump.  Master said nothing.

The pain…the pain was so sharp…so sharp, it was almost sweet.  The coolness of Master's fingertips coupled with the burning hurt made a whole new sensation, something completely different.  It wasn't unpleasant.  He saw the slightest of smiles on Master's face as he looked at him, and realized that Master was enjoying his pain.

He groaned again, not out of pain, but out of pleasure.  The pain was still there, but utterly transformed into something else.  The feel of Master inflicting this upon him, put together with the knowledge that this was what Master enjoyed, changed the sensations coursing through him entirely.

"Sweet…" he murmured.

"What?" Master asked, stopping what he was doing.  He sounded startled at Legato's sudden speech.

"P-please," he begged.  "Don't…don't stop…Master."  He looked pleadingly into Master's eyes.

Master stared at him for a moment, then grinned wickedly.  He understood.  He knew what his servant was pleading for.  The trembling, weeping young psychic was enjoying this, and couldn't help but beg for more.  Master said nothing more, merely returning to what he was doing.

Legato closed his eyes again, letting the sensations flow through him.  It was akin to sexual stimulation, and he knew he was dangerously close to having the same physical reaction.  He put forth all the power he had in his control at the moment to keep his body relatively calm.  It wouldn't do for his body to lose control right now.  His master may not be pleased.  He managed to have no obvious reaction to his pleasure.  Still…God, it felt so good!

He felt Master tie off the thread and cut it with the knife.  He was finished.  Legato almost moaned in disappointment, wishing it could go on longer.  He knew then and there that he would readily give in to any kind of pain his master chose to inflict upon him in the future.  Nothing he had ever encountered before felt so sweet as pleasing his master in that way.  Bandages, which had apparently been in the same cloth as the arm, were wrapped firmly around the newly formed junction, and fastened securely in place.

Strong arms lifted his tall, but somewhat thin, body off the blood-soaked mattress, and bore him out of the room, making sure the left arm was supported.  Legato lay limply against his master's chest, suddenly feeling overwhelmingly sleepy.  Master was rarely this gentle, and the last time had been several years ago, when Legato was still a skittish little boy.

"Rest, now," a soft voice whispered as he was lain down on his own bed a few doors down.  "You can clean up later.  You did well, Legato."

Legato managed a tiny smile, though he knew it wasn't visible in the dark room.  He had pleased his master.  Nothing else made him happier.

He heard Master leave the room, closing the door behind him.  Not ten seconds had gone by, when Legato suddenly felt exceeding sleepy, and he dropped off into darkness for many hours.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

"Are you awake?"

Legato's ear twitched minutely at those words.  He clawed his way up out of the deep sleep he had been in, and forced his eyes open.  He was extremely weak, and even that small action seemed almost impossible.

The first thing he saw was blue.  Master's piercing eyes.

"Good," Master said, smiling.  "You're awake.  You kept coming halfway conscious, then dropping back again.  I was wondering if your were ever going to wake up completely."

Legato forced open his dry lips.  "H…ow…lo…ng?"

"Almost two and a half days," Master answered.  "You didn't start waking up then falling back asleep until about four hours ago.  Before that, you could have been dead, for all anyone could tell.  You didn't even twitch when I cleaned you up a few hours after the transplant.  Your breathing and heartbeat were so faint, anyone could have missed them if they didn't look for them well enough."  He paused for a minute.  "You're a strong one, Legato.  Any other human would have died, considering how much blood you lost.  You practically bled dry, and that would have killed most humans easily.  Your survival probably has something to do with that power inside of you."

Legato didn't respond, merely closing his eyes and digesting the new information.  He had almost died.  If he had been any other human, he most certainly would have died.  He hated to admit it, but bleeding as much as he did would have been extremely risky even for Master's superior race.

He clenched his teeth and began to move his right arm.  With supreme effort, he managed to slide it across his body to the bandages on his left arm, touching them.  They were between the shoulder and the middle of the upper arm.  Most of his left arm was now someone else's flesh.  He couldn't feel a thing below the bandages.  He gritted his teeth again and dragged his right arm back over to his right side.  He could hardly breathe now, and a layer of sweat had broken out over his skin.  Master had said nothing the whole time.  He watched him, interested, as if curious to see if Legato could accomplish his endeavors.

"Don't do that," Master said, when Legato had stopped moving.  "You've survived this long.  I don't want you killing yourself just because you haven't the sense to keep still."  He turned away toward the bedside table, then turned back with a small container full of water.  The container was designed to give liquid to people while they lay flat.  "Drink this," he said as he propped Legato's head up a touch and let him drink the water.  "You'll probably speak better with some water.  You're throat's probably bone dry."  He smiled a bit as he took the now empty container away.  "This reminds me a little of the day you first woke up after I took you off the streets."

Legato didn't say anything at first.  Finally, he opened his eyes again and looked Master straight in the eyes.  "Thank…You…Mas…ster," he managed to whisper.  "It is…an…honor…to bear…this…arm…for…You."  He had to take a breath after almost every word, and was almost gasping near the end.  He groaned and closed his eyes again, his head falling to one side.  He didn't fall back asleep.

Master didn't answer.  After a minute of watching his servant lay as if dying, he reached out and took hold of the left hand.  "Can you feel this?"

Legato mouthed "no," not having the strength to voice it.

"I'm guessing everything below the bandages is numb?"

Legato mouthed "yes."

"Feeling will return soon enough," Master explained, letting go of the hand.  "But, it will hurt.  Think of the pins-and-needles feeling you get when a limb falls asleep, and magnify it a couple hundred times.  It's basically the same thing happening, but on a much larger scale this time.  The entire arm is practically dead, not just asleep."

Legato mentally thrilled at the mention of pain.  After the "surgery"…he knew he'd never feel pain the same way again.  He used to fear and avoid it like most humans.  Now, he welcomed the very idea of it, especially if his master was the cause, directly or indirectly.  He had heard of something like this, from some old medical journal his parents had had in the house.  What was it called?

Masochism, that's it.

He had been disgusted with the thought of the "disorder" before two and a half days ago.  He would have smiled if he had had the strength.  _It's not so bad_, he thought, mentally grinning.

"I'll leave you alone now," he heard Master say.  "You should sleep more.  The best way to recover is to conserve all your energy."  Master stood up off the bed to leave.  With surprising quickness, especially for his weakened state, Legato reached up and grabbed Master's hand, pulling it to him and pressing his lips lightly against it.

"Thank…You…Master," he whispered, after he pulled away.  "You…have…done…so much…for…me."

Master stood still.  After a few seconds, he pulled his hand completely out of Legato's feeble grasp, and began to walk away, not giving a word of response.

Legato's hand fell back to the bed, and his entire body collapsed limply to the bed sheets.  That little burst of energy had exhausted him.  He was asleep before Master even closed the door.

To be continued… 

**Author's Notes:**  I noticed that in this chapter, Knives seems too gentle.  But, I don't think that is too farfetched.  My idea is that Knives is usually cold and calculating when dealing with Legato, but periodically shows a softer side of himself.  That may strengthen the respect and loyalty Legato has for Knives, because it would give him the image of a being that is ultimately perfect and logical in his thinking, but also kind and compassionate.  I get the feeling Legato would worship someone like that much more than someone who is always cruel to him.  Masochist or not, people tend to warm up to other people more readily if that other person shows them kindness.  Anyway, let me know what you think of this at mangareader@hotmail.com, onegai shimasu!


	4. Catch-22

**Author's Notes:**  See chapter one for disclaimer and explanation.

Desperate Child By Annie-chan Chapter Four:  Catch-22 

Legato Bluesummers, twenty-five years old, walked back to Headquarters.  Not too far behind him was his right hand, Midvalley the Hornfreak, and the musician was uncommonly quiet.  No surprise.  Earlier today, he had witnessed the entire city of Augusta completely flattened in a freakish display of power.  The fact that a huge crater on the Fifth Moon had been created, so large it took up nearly a fourth of the visible surface of the moon, just added to the human's shock and alarm.  If Vash the Stampede, completely untrained in the use of the Angel Arm, could do that, the Hornfreak was extremely nervous over what Knives could possibly do.  Knives was more skilled in wielding the inhuman weapon, and was much more willing to use it.

Legato ignored his lackey's mental unease.  He was too busy thinking.  How would Master react to this?  Legato had been the one to instigate the event, and Master could have one of two reactions.  He could be pleased that his brother had been made to realize the true power he possessed.  On the other hand, he could be greatly upset.  Since Vash had lost most of his memories of times after his early childhood after the July Incident, then it stood to reason that this recent incident might bring those memories back.  He would remember everything, from the separation in values and morals the twins had on the Seeds ship, to Master's destruction of the fleet, to the ten years they spent together in the desert, to July City itself.  Vash would no doubt be tormented by the sudden return of such memories.  Legato's mission was to cause eternal pain and suffering to Master's accursed brother until the outlaw finally realized his true place at Master's side, but Master could feel every nuance of pain his brother went through, and he hated every bit of it.  He loved his brother beyond anything else in existence.  He sometimes flew into a rage when Legato caused Vash pain, and took it out on the super-psychic for daring to harm his flesh and blood.  Master was a bit fickle like that, punishing his chief servant for following orders.  It was a risk Legato had to take.

Legato smiled just the slightest bit.  _If I get a punishment, I wouldn't mind at all._  For the past seven years, he had welcomed the possibility of pain, injury, physical punishment…all the more if they were at the hands of his master.  Every little bit of pain he felt always reminded him of when Master had given him the gift of the left arm of Vash the Stampede.  The agony he had gone through had been by far the sweetest feeling his pathetic human body had experienced, and he knew he would treasure that memory for as long as he lived.  He didn't know just how that incident changed his perspective on physical pain, but he didn't question it.  Never look a gift horse in the mouth, as some humans would say.

They were here.  Legato opened the door and walked through, hearing the Hornfreak close it again when he entered as well.  Neither spoke.  The rest of the Guns—the ones that hadn't been killed, anyway—were either in the nearest town or already here.  The two went their separate ways, heading for their respective quarters.  The Hornfreak wouldn't be called on by Master, and Legato knew that he was to wait until Master specifically gave him the order to come to him.  He would know that Legato was here, but may not want to speak to him right now.

_Legato_, a sudden voice sounded in his head.

Legato froze.  That was sooner than expected.  He hadn't even gotten to the door to his quarters yet.  Not one to question Master, he immediately changed direction and went straight to where Master was waiting for him.

Master was on the far side of the building, staring out a window at the endless desert.  His back was to Legato as the human entered the room, his arms folded in front of him.  His posture was stiff, and he stood completely still.  Legato walked up to him until they were about five feet apart, then knelt in respect.  It was not his place to speak first.  He must wait until Master deemed it time to begin.  Master did not speak for a long time.

"Legato," he began quietly, after many minutes had gone by.  "Earlier, I felt my brother's energy skyrocket, then a release that could only be an Angel Arm going off."  He turned around and regarded Legato's bowed form, his face and voice expressionless.  "Care to explain?"

"Yes, Master," Legato answered.  The question was no question at all, but a demand for an explanation.  "Vash the Stampede was in Augusta, where Raidei the Blade had just issued a shiai ofuda to him.  Your brother was refusing to accept the challenge, and was immovable, as usual, in his refusal.  I, for once, got fed up, and forced him to use his Angel Arm, destroying Augusta.  From where I watched up on a cliff overlooking the whole thing, the entire city was destroyed.  A crater was put in the Fifth Moon as well, for Your brother shot straight upward toward it."  He paused for a moment, but Master made no reply.  Legato continued.  "The only casualties were the Blade and E.G. Mine.  Vash the Stampede managed to clear all Augusta's citizens out beforehand, for he apparently anticipated a confrontation.  The Mine was killed by the Blade, who apparently thought him more a hindrance than a help, and the Blade was killed by the younger Chapel after Augusta was destroyed."  Legato's eyebrows drew together slightly.  "It seems we have a malcontent among us, Master.  I understand the Blade dispatching the Mine, because the Mine wasn't very competent in the first place.  However, the Blade was very good at what he did, and his death was completely unprovoked."

"Hm," Master replied, almost absentmindedly.  Legato was unsure if Master really cared at the moment about the younger Chapel's conduct.  Master seemed preoccupied.

"Master?" Legato ventured.  He usually wasn't so bold as to speak first, but he became alarmed when he noticed Master grip the windowsill tightly and bow his head forward.  His entire body was shaking.

"My brother was unconscious for a while after it happened," Master answered through clenched teeth.  "He's woken up now, and he's in agony!  He remembers everything he forgot!  The Seed's ships crashing, our falling-out, July City, everything!"  His breathing was deep, as if he was struggling to keep boiling emotions under control.  "I can feel everything he is feeling right now.  He hasn't been in so much pain since I brought the fleet down and killed that woman, along with so many others."

"Yes, Master," Legato said, his voice soft.  "Eternal pain and suffering to Vash the Stampede until he takes his rightful place."

That was a mistake.

As soon as he said those words, he felt himself jerked upright in the air, his feet dangling a few inches above the ground.  He barely had time to register what was happening before he was slammed down flat on his back.  An intangible, yet devastatingly heavy, weight pressed down on his entire body, threatening to crush him where he lay.  His lungs found themselves compressed so much he couldn't breathe, and his heart was struggling to keep beating, now pressed up against his sternum and ribs.  A cry forced its way from his throat.

"How dare you?" Master demanded, his voice dripping with fury.  "How _dare_ you take such action without direct orders from me?!"

Legato tried to answer, but all he could do was choke from lack of air.

"My brother," Master whispered, sounding like he was struggling not to cry.  "My brother…oh, God!  Vash!  I feel every bit of anguish you do!  Vash, _why_ are you so insistent in resisting me?!  _Why_ must you keep running from me like this?!  It only makes us both suffer!"

Pain was shooting through Legato's body, not just from not being able to breathe, but he felt his bones straining under the pressure.  Any more, and his skeleton was sure to be crushed into powder.  He moaned, in both pleasure and pain.  Part of him was reveling in this punishment Master was dealing him, but the other part was screaming that, if he wasn't released soon, he would surely die.  The self-preservation instinct still kicked in every once in a while, no matter how self-destructive Legato was otherwise.

Suddenly, the weight was gone.  His body arched upwards automatically.  He had been unconsciously fighting against it.  He fell back against the floor, gasping for breath.

Master turned away from the window to look at him.  His ice-cold eyes burned into Legato's spirit, and the super-psychic almost cringed at the potency of the anger he saw within them.

"Get up," Master ordered.

Legato complied, forcing his weakened body to obey.  He managed to push himself to his feet, though he swayed a bit, almost falling to his knees as he straightened up.  He watched, his breathing shaky, as Master walked up to him and grabbed his chin in his hand.  Their faces were mere inches apart, and Legato could feel Master's hot breath against his skin.  Those impossibly beautiful blue eyes seared into Legato's golden ones, their gaze so intense Legato felt the sting of tears.

"Don't ever do anything like that without my orders again," Master hissed, his teeth again clenched.  "Do you understand me, or do I need to convince you?"

Legato faltered.  His desire for Master to "convince" him was very strong, but he got the feeling that this particular "convincing" just might end in his death.  He couldn't die yet.  His mission was incomplete.  There were still so many things he could do to further Master's plans concerning his brother.

"I understand, Master," he whispered.  He shivered at the feel of Master's hand coming up to stroke his cheek.  The palm was warm, but the fingertips were cool.  He felt a thrill when he saw a smile cross Master's perfect visage.

"Very good, Legato," Master said, satisfied with his servant's answer.  His voice was now so very soft and gentle.  "You learn quickly.  See that you don't forget."

"Yes, Master," Legato replied.  He almost cried out when those hands were taken away, but stopped himself.  No matter how much he craved this exquisite creature's kindness—as well as his cruelty—he had no place to ask for it.  He was to be satisfied with what he got.  He felt a twinge of sorrow as he saw sadness return to Master's eyes.

"Now, go," Master said, turning back away from him.  "I wish to be alone."  He returned to staring out the window, his stance showing the mental hurt that was assailing his senses.  No doubt all he could concentrate on for more than a few minutes right now was his brother's current emotional state.  Legato bowed in respect and left without a word.  Master needed time to himself right now, and the young human had no right to encroach on his privacy.

Legato walked straight back to his quarters.  There was nothing else for him to do at the moment, so he might as well just sit and brood for a while.  He did that quite well.

"Sir?"

Legato turned around.  "What do you want, Hornfreak?"

"Nothing in particular," the Hornfreak answered.  "Just that you're bruising all over."

Legato lifted his hand up to his face.  The skin was indeed sensitive, and he felt a whit of pain when he touched it.  It must be a side effect of Master's recent punishment.

"Would it be too much to ask what exactly happened?" the Hornfreak inquired.  There was no concern in his voice, only that annoying curiosity common to almost all humans.  They always had to know every bit of information about everything around them, as if it could make up for their general lack of intelligence.

"Master thought it necessary to punish me for taking the liberty of dealing with Vash the Stampede as I did," Legato replied tersely.  "Now, leave."  He didn't wait for a reply, only entering his quarters and shutting the door before the Hornfreak could say another word.

Legato stood with his back against the door, staring into the darkness of the unlighted room.  He had failed, once again.  Yes, he caused extreme suffering to the enemy, but he had not pleased Master.  The desire for his approval stood above all else.  Deep down, he knew that he would never have Master's true approval, being human as he was, but he at the very least didn't want Master's outright disapproval.  He cursed himself for being so stupid.  Master had told him never to use the transplanted Angel Arm unless ordered.  Why, of all things, did he have to choose to trigger the Angel Arm of Vash the Stampede?  It had the same physical results on the city, plus made Master distraught, because of his brother's distress.  He knew very well that his task was to make the Stampede suffer, but not if the method of doing so was against orders.

_Stupid_, Legato berated himself.  _Stupid human!_  Causing Master pain was even worse than having Master's disapproval.  He should have known the consequences of his actions!  He walked over to his bed, removed his overcoat, shirt, shoes, and gloves, changed into the pair of slouch pants he slept in, and lay down.  His eyes had adjusted to the darkness, and he looked at his left hand.  Vash the Stampede's left hand.

_Why is it so difficult?_ Legato thought, as if addressing the former owner of the arm.  _My mission is to cause you suffering until you join your brother as you should, but every time I cause you any real suffering, I make my dear master suffer as well.  Why must I constantly choose between two evils?_  Every time he came up against Vash the Stampede, directly or indirectly, he was forced to make a choice.  He must either let Vash off easy and spare Master some pain, or give Vash hell and make Master hurt as a result of his brother's hurting.  Either way, Legato hated the outcome.  Choosing between following his mission and pleasing his master—which should be one and the same—was not something he was happy about in the slightest.  How did the saying go?  He was between a rock and a hard place.  Some humans called it "Catch-22," though he had no idea where they got that phrase.

Legato continued staring at the Plant's flesh, his gaze wandering slowly up and down the length of the arm.  He was remembering the year after he first got it.  It had been nearly six months before he could use it as a normal arm, not gingerly choosing what to do and what not to do, as to not hurt it.  The first few weeks, spent entirely in bed, for he was too weak to do anything at all, were spotted with periods of exquisitely intense agony.  The arm was coming alive again with the blood pumping through it, and the returning sensation made itself known quite sharply.  Master had been right.  It was like the pins-and-needles sensation after a limb falls asleep, only on a much grander scale.

After he was able to function normally, Legato had taken Master's advice and made a point of building up his muscle mass.  At eighteen years and ten months old, Legato had been a willowy young man, almost looking bone-thin in some lights.  Master had told him that exercise would speed up his total recovery, as he was still on the delicate side from the enormous physical trauma of six months earlier, as long as it was kept within reason.  So, Legato had complied, and was now much different that he was as an adolescent.  He wasn't enormously muscular, rather having a sleek, well-proportioned look.  He had never understood why some men bulked themselves up to an almost unnatural physical state, so he kept himself slender.

By the time he was nineteen-and-a-half, Legato was totally recovered, and physically stronger than before.  That was six years ago, and not much had changed since then.  Only that he had recruited the Gung-Ho Guns since then, and he was now actively pursuing Vash the Stampede, instead of just shadowing him, observing from afar.

_Well…I guess that could be considered as a lot changing in the past six years_, Legato thought, correcting his recent musings.

He felt himself growing sleepy.  He had been lying here longer than he thought, and was starting to feel the effects of the progressing night.  He slipped beneath the bedclothes, letting his eyes drop closed for the night.  As he slid into unconsciousness, he let one last thought flit through his mind.

_Vash the Stampede_, he mentally swore, _I _will_ find you again, and…I'll find a way to bring you to Master's side!  I swear on my loyalty, I will!_

Owari 

**Author's Notes:**  Yes, I know this last chapter seems rather anti-climactic (unless you consider Knives' punishing Legato a climax), and the ending was rather abrupt, but I didn't want to delve too much into the story of the anime.  I wanted this to fit in with the anime story, and if I went too much into it, I may end up changing some things.  I probably changed some things anyway.  I don't know if Knives was in the plant the whole time from the July Incident to the present, and I had him out of it quite a bit.  There's also the thing of Legato's age.  I read on more than one website that he's a lot older than he looks, and that overexposure to the Plant energies froze his body in time, making it unable to age any more than early- to mid-twenties.  I have no idea whether that's true or not for the anime (or the manga, for that matter), so I just decided he'd look his age and be twenty-five.  I'm sorry for any discrepancies, but this story was done as accurately as my knowledge allowed.  I'm also sorry if you would have preferred a more exciting ending to the story, but I already explained why I wrote it as I did.  I hope I didn't disappoint too many of you!  Please let me know what you think of this in a review or at mangareader@hotmail.com, onegai shimasu!  No flames, though.  Be constructive, not destructive, if you can.


End file.
